


When She Loved Me

by Spite_And_Puns



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Blood, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues, The Imagination Room (Sanders Sides), Toy Story References, Virgil: dw i was into it, could be triggering please be careful, no i don't have the inspo to right anything but roman angst whats it to you, not self harm but self harm reasoning, roman: i'm so sorry i almost killed you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 12:02:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29592537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spite_And_Puns/pseuds/Spite_And_Puns
Summary: Something's wrong with Roman, and Virgil is determined to figure out what.(please read the tags guys)
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders
Comments: 14
Kudos: 98





	When She Loved Me

Virgil was a lot of things, but unobservant wasn’t one of them. He noticed how Patton always slipped extra sugar into Logan’s coffee (and he noticed how Logan never complained.) He noticed when Thomas was putting off tasks and when he risked overworking himself and burning out. He noticed when Janus’ gloved hands tapped out rhythms to musicals at the dining table, and when Remus was quietly proud of his work. He circled his family, watching their actions closely to make sure everything in the Mindpalace was running smoothly.

What he didn’t understand was why it took him so long to notice that something was wrong with Roman. 

* * *

If it had been anyone else watching the movie with Roman, they probably wouldn’t have realised anything was wrong. After all, _Toy Story 2_ was a classic movie night choice and the Sides all tended to lose themselves in Pixar films anyway. Maybe if all of the Sides had been there on the couch, Virgil wouldn’t have been so tunnelled in on Roman’s movements. But it was just the two of them alone in the living room and illuminated by the glowing screen, so Virgil was sharply aware of how Roman’s socked feet pressed gently against his thighs after the Romantic Side had curled up on the couch. Every time Roman hummed quietly along with the music, or huffed a little laugh at the antics on screen, Virgil felt his hand twitch with the urge to do _something_. Something stupid, no doubt, like rub Roman’s ankles affectionately or ruffle his hair. Of course, they were just silly, impulsive thoughts and weren’t any _real_ indication of how Virgil felt. Nope. Not even a little. And if the thought that Roman’s profile looked _particularly_ dashing when it was haloed by the warm glow of the screen happened to cross his mind, well, that was nobody’s business but his own.

It was one of Virgil’s favourite parts of the film, where Jessie’s backstory played on screen to _When She Loved Me_. Usually this montage would sweep Virgil up and have him aching for the poor, abandoned doll but a minute or two into the scene something niggled at his mind, drawing him out of it. It took him a second to pinpoint it. _Roman_.

Throughout the movie, Roman had been constantly shifting, bobbing his head or rapping his fingers on the couch. Not because he was nervous, but just because Roman was never able to sit still. Now, for the first time in weeks, Roman was deathly stiff. Virgil surreptitiously glanced at the Side. Maybe he was dead: that seemed the likeliest option here. If not dead, then dying at least. The yellow light bounced oddly off Roman’s face as the music floated gently past them,

_“And when she was happy, so was I… when she loved me.”_

Virgil frowned. It was hard to make out Roman’s expression from his peripherals, but from what he could tell it looked…distinctly not-Roman. There was a clench to his jaw and subtle tightness of his features that spoke to a forced blank expression. Roman, in Virgil’s experience, rarely tried to conceal his emotions, particularly when he was being moved by the art of others. But here he was, coiled like a spring ready to shoot off the couch, with a thinly masked emotion that looked a lot like desperation.

_“And when she was lonely I was there to comfort her and I knew that she loved me.”_

Virgil was barely feigning watching the film now, but Roman was so engrossed that he didn’t seem to notice. At some point he had leant forward, and looked on the cusp of leaping up into the screen to save Jessie from heartbreak. Roman’s feet were no longer against Virgil’s thighs, because he had shrunk back into himself and tightly curled his toes. Virgil frowned, grappling with the thought that he was missing something very important.

_“So the years went by. I stayed the same, but she began to drift away.”_

As soon as the song finished, Virgil paused the film, watching as Roman blinked back into the present. He tore his eyes away from Jessie’s tearful closeup to look at Virgil, but he was still curled up and his jaw remained clenched.

“We needed more popcorn,” Virgil mumbled, picking up the empty bowl and heading back into the kitchen. Roman didn’t move in his position on the couch. Virgil swallowed. Usually he could rely on Patton to cheerfully fill the silence, or Logan’s analytical approach to prevent such a blatantly emotional response to the story. What was _he_ supposed to do? Having refilled the popcorn bowl, Virgil hesitantly returned to the couch, perhaps sitting a little bit closer to Roman than he had been originally. He picked up the remote, but recoiled at the idea of just pressing play and leaving Roman to whatever sympathetic spiral he was immersing himself in.

“Whatcha thinking about, Princey?” His voice sounded too dry, too acerbic. God, Patton would be so much better at this. Still, the question roused Roman a little, and the Side turned his head to Virgil. He paused.

“Do you think Emily was right? To… to get rid of Jessie?”

Virgil blinked. Well, that wasn’t what he expected. “Uh, I… I mean, I feel bad for Jessie here.”

“So Emily should have kept her? Even though she was’t using her?” The intensity in Roman’s eyes as he searched Virgil’s face caught the Side off guard.

Patton, Virgil thought idly, would rise to Jessie’s defence, and talk about the importance of family and love. Well, he wasn’t Patton.

“I don’t think so. Emily and Jessie didn’t really have anything to learn from each other at this point, right? Like, it sucks for Jessie that she’s still holding onto Emily, but it worked out for her, in the end. When she met Andy.”

“But she was heartbroken for years before then.”

Virgil shrugged uncomfortably. “Isn’t the whole purpose of the toys to be played with? If Jessie wasn’t, then it makes sense that she moved on to a place where she was more useful. In the next movie they leave Andy, and it’s a good thing, right? Knowing when you’ve outgrown something.”

“Or someone,” Roman said bitterly.

“I guess. Emily didn’t need Jessie anymore, and it worked out better for them both that she let her go.” A stricken look flashed past Roman’s face in response, and he sighed and burrowed lower into his couch cushion.

“Even though it hurt Jessie.”

“Yeah.” Virgil felt slightly off kilter, like there was some undercurrent to the conversation that he was lagging behind on. But Roman didn’t seem interested in responding, or in redirecting his attention back to Virgil. Instead, he was fixated on the screen with a steadiness that could only mean he was avoiding meeting Virgil’s gaze.

Virgil tentatively pressed play, trying to figure out why he couldn’t focus on anything but Roman’s still hands and the defeat in his voice.

* * *

Everyone knew Roman was a little… extra. Particularly when it came to his sword.

_(I literally almost took your whole face out.)_

Virgil had always thought it was just a weird bid for attention, considering how often he had watched Roman attempt to shave, spread jam, and cut cake with the same polished blade. But, whatever. He got it. Swords were cool. And the look on Logan’s face when Roman had used his sword as a substitute raised arm to ask questions during his _Why We (Read: Roman) Should Be Banned From Possessing Weaponry In The Mindpalace_ lecture was absolutely worth keeping the sword around.

For a while, Virgil actually debated whether or not Roman even knew how to _use_ his sword, or if he only used it to practice dramatic slow motion finishing blows on mythical beasts. He didn’t question that anymore.

It had been somewhere close to midnight, and Virgil didn’t _mean_ to sneak up on Roman. (Okay, he definitely meant to sneak up on Roman, but only because he enjoyed inciting chaos in the lives of those around him. Sue him.) The Creative Side had been quietly humming _One Day More_ in the bathroom when Virgil, on his regular nighttime stroll through the Mindpalace, heard and crept to the closed door. When Roman emerged, happily ignorant of Virgil skulking in the shadows, he started down the hallway to his bedroom. Virgil smirked, anticipating the squeak from the other Side.

“Going somewhere, Princ-?”

He was cut off as, as soon as his gravelly voice pierced the quiet Roman whirled around, shoving his forearm against Virgil’s chest and pressing his whole bodyweight against him to trap Virgil against the wall. Virgil spluttered as the wind was knocked out of him and the point of something cold dug into his throat. He wondered vaguely how Roman had drawn his sword so quickly, and entered combat with a speed and strength that could only have been a product of muscle memory after years of combat. Roman’s expression was something fierce, with the steel of his sword paling next to the steel of his eyes, and Virgil suddenly sympathised with any creature that had angered the Prince. (If the phrase _holy shit he’s hot_ passed his mind, no one would need to know.)

“Foul villain, what purpose do you- Virgil?” Roman’s voice abruptly dropped, and the coals cooled in his face as he blinked rapidly.

Virgil made a little noise that was a little bit of fear, little bit of confirmation, and largely gay panic.

The sword dropped and Roman sprang away from Virgil, releasing him from the wall. Virgil immediately missed the feeling of the other Side pressing against him, and filed that away in a part of his mind that he would most definitely _not_ think about for the rest of time.

“Virge, I’m so sorry- I didn’t realise it was you- are you _okay?_ ” Roman’s face, full of concern, entered Virgil’s vision again, and he hoped desperately that the shadows were obscuring the scarlet blush he could feel rising in his neck. He nodded vehemently.

“Uh, yeah. Fine.” Shit. Voice crack. There was an awkward pause, punctuated by a soft _whoosh_ as Roman’s sword disappeared.

“Are you, uh,” Virgil swallowed, “always ready to pin people to walls?”

_Oh my god._ If the floor could swallow him up right now, that would be phenomenal.An unreadable emotion flashed across Roman’s face, and he crossed his arms, slumping slightly.

“Virge, I’m so sorry. I just- I’ve always got to be ready on adventures, you know, and that can be hard to… turn off.” Virgil realised Roman must have misread his tone, and the defeat and guilt in his voice was making something in Virgil’s head go careening into overdrive.

“Oh, no! No, I mean- I’m not complaining-“ Roman’s face shot up, and _oh god_ _that’s creepy Virgil_ , “Well, I _am_ complaining a little, but not a lot, you know? Like I shouldn’t have been sneaking up you anyway and besides that whole twist with the sword was pretty cool so really you should be congratulating yourself, and, uh…”

Roman’s face cracked into a smile, and he huffed a little laugh that eased Virgil’s panic.

“Thanks, hot topic.”

There was another pause, and Virgil _really_ couldn’t stop thinking about how cold he felt now, even with his hoodie on.

Virgil opened his mouth again, to say something like _I like your laugh_ or _Wanna do it again?_ But settled on, “I’m gonna go to bed.”

Roman grinned hesitantly, the moonlight from a crack in the curtain illuminating a sliver of his smile.

“Okay, Virge. See you tomorrow.”

Virgil nodded vehemently, and walked stiffly back to his bedroom, pretending not to hear Roman’s snort when he tripped on the carpet as he opened the door.

He didn’t wonder until much, much later exactly _when_ Roman had become ready to protect himself at the slightest sound, or what must have happened to him to instil that level of paranoia.

* * *

The next time, Virgil thought he could give himself a pass for not noticing Roman’s weird behaviour considering… well.

He and Roman had been in the living room, not speaking as they bobbed along to the Paramore blaring from their shared earphones. In the kitchen, Logan and Patton were huddled over the kitchen counter making dinner. Originally, Roman had been scribbling some story into his notebook, but at some point had chosen to doodle on Virgil’s hand instead. Virgil hoped he wasn’t sweating as obviously as he felt, but the continuous pressing of Roman’s calloused fingers on his own pale palm was enough to bring a flush up his neck. A totally platonic flush, obviously. Roman had always been a tactile individual. There was absolutely nothing to overthink here, and Virgil’s heart was surely going to calm down at any point now…

Without warning, Roman brought Virgil’s hand closer and gently blew a cold breath across it. A shiver erupted through Virgil as the ink on his hand shifted from black to lilac. Roman grinned, meeting Virgil’s gaze.

“It matches you, now.” There was something indescribable, but undeniably soft, in Roman’s eyes. His grip on Virgil’s wrist was warm and gentle, like he was giving the other Side the opportunity to pull his hand away. Virgil wondered if there was a way to make it so that Roman wasn’t just holding his hand but his shoulders, his waist, his jaw.

A yelp of pain shattered the eggshell fragility between them, and both Sides whipped around to look at the kitchen.

“Patton!” Logan had bent over next to Patton, who was clutching his hand close to his chest. Virgil watched with frozen horror as a dark splotch grew on his shirt and sleeve.

“Ow- Logan- I didn’t mean to-“ Patton’s voice cut off in another strangled whimper. Immediately, Roman and Virgil leapt off the couch and entered the kitchen.

“What happened?” Virgil snarled at Logan, wincing when he heard his own dual-toned voice and saw how pale the Side was.

“I…I don’t… he was fine and then- the knife- it fell- and Pat-”

Virgil swallowed down the rising panic. Not now. He couldn’t afford to freeze right now. He had to help. He had to _protect_. He turned back to Patton, and couldn’t stop himself from stepping back at the sight of the vivid red staining his freckled arm and shirt. Roman had guided Patton to one of the chairs in the kitchen and was murmuring softly to him while scrutinising the cut on his forearm. Distantly, Virgil registered how strange Roman’s voice- always so bold and brassy -sounded when it was murmured.

“Logan, can you get me the first aid kit from the cupboard?” Roman called, without turning away from Patton. Logan blinked, swallowed, and nodded vigorously.

“Yes, of- of course.” He made his way to the cupboard, mumbling quietly to himself in the same voice he used to recite history facts. “Retrieving a first aid kit is an essential step in administering immediate assistance to one who has been injured.”

“You’re quite right, Specs.” Roman offered Logan a strained smile as he took the kit and flipped it open, grabbing bandages from their place much faster than Virgil thought he would have been able to, like he knew exactly how to navigate the little box. “Thank you, Logan. You’re being very helpful. While I- while I do this, can you count out some breathing exercises and go through them slowly? For Patton.”

The continued direction seemed to be having an effect on Logan, who’s hands had stopped shaking as much.

“Yes, of course. Please, Patton, breathe in for me. One, two, three..”

Virgil couldn’t stop staring as Roman soaked up the excess blood into a white cloth and methodically cleaned Patton’s cut.

“This is going to sting, but just keep listening to Logan, okay? You’re doing great, Padre.” Roman rubbed some kind of ointment into the cut, and Patton whimpered and recoiled. At the sound, Logan’s steady counting faltered, and Virgil hissed sharply in response.

Roman paused, and turned his head slightly. “You okay, Virge?”

Virgil blinked, realising abruptly how he hadn’t moved in… he hadn’t moved. He was supposed to protect. He was supposed to be _fight_ , not freeze. Patton was here, in pain, and he was doing _nothing._ He wasn’t helping, he wasn’t-

“Virgil?” At Patton’s timid voice, Virgil snapped his head to look at him. “Do you mind if I- if I hold your hand? It- It hurts.”

Immediately, Virgil flashed to his side, crouching down and grasping Patton’s good hand with his own two. Relief flooded him at the warmth of Patton’s skin- why had he thought it would be cold? -and he rubbed silent comfort into his palm.

“I think- it’s still bleeding, Patton. I’m going to have to sew in some stitches.” Roman looked apologetic, and a worried noise emerged in the back of Virgil’s throat.

“Do you know how to do that?” Patton sounded so hesitant, Virgil gripped his hand tighter. Something flickered across Roman’s face, somewhere between wryness and determination. He started to push the sewing thread through a needle that made Virgil want to puke. That was going to go through Patton’s _skin._

“Of course, Padre. Years of costume design makes for a steady hand. Would you mind talking about something as I do it? I don’t think, uh… I don’t think you should look.”

Patton shuddered, and squeezed his eyes closed as Roman began to make the stitches. “What do I…”

Logan spoke up, firmer than before. “Perhaps you could go over the recipe for the sugar cookies you make so often? I would very much like to hear it.”

Patton nodded, and the tension eased from his face as he went though the steps he had performed hundreds of times before. Throughout it, Roman’s hands didn’t hesitate, and he glared at the cut with an intensity that would have frightened Virgil if he hadn’t already been at peak fear capacity. Virgil tried to look at Roman’s hands as he started stitching, but as soon at the thin needle neared Patton’s skin he winced and averted his eyes, turning instead to the determination painted on Roman’s face. Something kindred stirred within him, and a fresh resolve pushed Virgil to gently prod Patton with simple questions about his recipes that further relaxed the fatherly Side. A few minutes passed, and Roman was tying the stitch knot just as Patton finished his recipe.

“There you go, Pat. Good as new.” A slight sheen of sweat graced Patton’s face as he tilted his arm, and the grin of relief that appeared set off a collective sigh in the kitchen. Virgil felt his heart _finally_ begin to slow and Roman’s shoulders dropped so dramatically that Virgil wondered how he hadn’t realised they were hunched.

Logan had moved to inspect the arm, and blinked in surprise.

“Roman, this stitch-work is highly skilled. I’m impressed.”

Roman smiled tiredly, shurgging. “Well, it was easier than you’d think, Specs. Steady hands and all.”

“Even so, I’m astonished that you were able to perform such a capable job under stressful conditions.”

Roman preened under the compliment, rubbing his neck. “Well, it was really no trouble. Anything for our Patton. Besides, it’s easy when you’re doing it for someone else. The angle was a lot more convenient than it usuall-”

He abruptly clamped his mouth closed, and a line of tension appeared in his neck. Virgil frowned. _More convenient than what?_ The moment was interrupted as Patton flung his arms around Roman.

“Thank you so much, Roman!”

“It was my pleasure, Padre-”

“You really are our hero!”

Virgil, the only Side in the kitchen with a view of Roman’s face in the hug, saw how the Side’s eyes shot open and the blush that had been growing in his cheeks immediately faded. He didn’t say anything, but something like the fire he had worn when glaring at Patton’s injury reappeared, and he stared intently at the floor when Patton pulled away. Virgil frowned at him, trying to catch his gaze, but Roman didn’t seem to notice as he slipped out of the kitchen, covered by the sound of Patton’s giggles as Logan accidentally made a pun.

* * *

He wouldn’t realise until several hours later, as he packed up the first-aid kit, that a bottle of antiseptic he assumed was new was barely a quarter full, despite how Roman had only used a few dabs on Patton. Maybe he had spilt it at some point? Virgil’s brow furrowed, trying to remember the last time they had used the first-aid kit. It hadn’t been for months, surely. There was no reason for the bottle to be so depleted, right? Then again, it was more than possible he was overthinking this. Virgil shook away his thoughts as he opened the drawer the kit belonged in and placed it in its spot.

The drawer.

_“Logan, can you get me the first aid kit from the cupboard?”_

Why hadn't the first-aid kit been in its usual place? And why did Roman know _exactly_ where it would be?

* * *

It was only after the brief Patton incident that Virgil started to feel his old, watchful habits creep up again. Echoes of the paranoia he used to shroud himself in reemerged as he started following Roman’s every move. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was looking for, but the tug in his gut told him that there was _something_ wrong, if only he was vigilant enough to notice it. It wasn’t easy. Despite being a self-named thespian, it became clear to Virgil that Roman wasn’t just an actor. Roman was a magician, and he knew just how to redirect his audience’s attention.

Roman’s laugh was as boisterous as ever, and he peppered in more and more silly nicknames into his conversations, but Virgil realised that Roman never actually _said_ anything anymore. He was always joining mealtimes late and leaving them early, but he never said why. All he had to do was playfully tease Logan and flash his signature pose and everyone just shrugged it off. In brainstorms and meetings he heartily agreed with Patton’s suggestions or added colour to Logan’s otherwise dreary proposals, but he never said what _he_ wanted anymore. He never disagreed with the group; not in any way that mattered. Virgil even found himself speaking up, talking about aspirations and dreams and things that he didn’t understand in an attempt to get Roman to say _something_ about what he wanted. He never did. He just smiled and nodded, and immediately backed down when the others would dismiss it. The scariest part was that if Virgil hadn’t been paying careful attention to Roman, he’s almost certain he would have been swept up in the magic act. He still was, sometimes. Roman would send him a cheeky wink or lean close to whisper a snarky comment and Virgil would forget all about looking behind the curtain, he would be so engulfed by _Roman._ In his defence, he felt like Roman seemed to be more relaxed, more genuine, when it was just the two of them. But he could be wrong- he had seen up close now just how wrong he could be about Roman.

The final nail in the _Something’s Wrong With Roman_ coffin was when, after entering the living room for dinner a few minutes late, Patton hopped out of his seat to wrap Roman in a surprise bear hug.

_And Roman flinched._

Virgil’s mouth went dry as Roman’s tight smile flickered on, like reflex, as Patton drew away and started babbling about something Virgil couldn’t hear over the rush of blood in his ears. No one else in the room seemed to have noticed, nor did they notice how stiffly Roman set himself down at the table, and how gingerly he cut his steak.

He didn’t say a word through dinner, but Roman was as cheerful as ever, only slipping up once when Logan had bumped his side and he faltered in his sentence, cutting off a hiss of pain and stopping his arm mid-air as it went to clutch his shoulder. Virgil was horrified. Was Roman hurt? How? Had he gotten hurt before? Why hadn’t he _told_ them? Did he need help?

Virgil swallowed and tried to take deep breaths in time with Logan’s steady bites. In. Out. If Roman was willing to undergo this whole dinner while in what looked like a lot of pain, there had to be a reason, right? Virgil would just have to wait, and try not to stare too obviously at him. When, after twenty agonising minutes, Roman announced he had a story idea he simply _had_ to write down, and he was sorry to cut dinner short, Virgil watched him leave.

“I’m gonna head off too. Thanks for dinner, Pat.” Without waiting to hear a response, he slunk away from the table and headed upstairs to the bedrooms. Roman’s door was in the centre of the hallway, and Virgil readied his hand to knock. Had the red paint always been so faded and peeling? Virgil swore that the door used to be so vivid that he had winced whenever he passed it. But now it looked… wrong. That was it. Enough was enough. Virgil knocked.

There was a shuffle on the other side of the door, and a sound to weak for Virgil to quite make out.

“Roman?”

“Just- just a minute!” His voice was drawn tight and high pitched, in a clear attempt to hide panic. Or pain. Virgil decided not to think about that at this particular moment.

“I’m coming in.” Virgil pushed the door open, just as a heavy weight slammed against it, shoving him backwards and almost slamming the door closed. A sliver of Roman’s face appeared in the crack of the door, and Virgil realised that the other Side had practically fallen on the door to keep it from opening.

“Oh, Virge. Did you need something? Now isn’t a good time.”

“Let me in, please, Roman.”

“No can do, Gloomshroom. Busy.” His breaths were coming out more ragged now, and a poorly disguised grimace graced Roman’s face. “Another time, okay?”

He made another attempt to shut the door, but Virgil wedged his foot inside the frame. Cards on the table.

“I know you’re hurt, Roman. Let me _help_.”

“What?” The choked laugh he attempted wasn’t quite convincing enough to hide the stricken look the passed over him. Virgil took advantage of the other Side’s brief surprise to shove the door open further and slip past him into the bedroom.

“What are you _doing?_ Get out.” Roman, dressed only in his black undershirt,whirled around to face Virgil, but couldn’t meet his eyes as he tightly hugged his middle. Virgil backed away a little, raising his hands like he was calming a wild horse.

“I’ll leave as soon as I know you’re okay.”

“Okay? Of _course_ I’m okay. I’m _always_ okay.” Virgil lowered his arms a little at the blend of bitterness and manic false confidence in his voice. Roman glared at Virgil’s feet, and two red blotches appeared in his cheeks.

“We both know that’s not true.” Virgil almost whimpered at the shudder that racked through Roman’s body as he shrunk into himself. He realised blankly that Roman was _ashamed_.

“It’s alright, Roman. I’m not here to judge you or- or mock you, or something. I just want to understand what’s going on. You know you can trust me, right?” He took a step closer, and Roman didn’t lean away. Instead, the Creative Side raised his head and tilted it pleadingly at Virgil. Virgil had to stifle another cry at the tears welling up in Roman’s eyes.

“ _Virgil._ ” That was enough. Immediately, Virgil rushed forward, opening his arms in an instinct he didn’t know he possessed to steady Roman, who started swaying precariously. Slowly, Roman unfolded his arms, and Virgil sucked in a sharp breath. Around his stomach a dark brown patch had slowly spread, leaving a smell like rust. Virgil swore quietly, guiding Roman to a sitting position on the bed. Roman whined as he touched his shoulder, and Virgil immediately moved his hand, suddenly noticing the blotchy pattern of multicoloured bruises leading into his shirt sleeve.

“Okay, um, that’s… I’m going to have to take off your shirt to get a look at…whatever this is.” Virgil was focusing very hard on making sure his voice was steady (or, steadyish), the same way Roman’s had been when he stitched up Patton.

Roman grunted, and Virgil shimmied the undershirt off him, pausing in horror at the mess that lay underneath. A myriad of sickly yellow and violet bruises trailed up Roman’s shoulder and down his shoulder blades in a way that looked like it _pulsed_ whenever he shifted his arm. Dried brown blood encrusted a deep weeping wound in his abdomen that looked an awful lot like huge claw marks.

“ _Shit,_ Roman. What happened?” The question made Roman wince, and he lowered his gaze again. Virgil shook his head. “Nevermind. Not important right now. Give me a second to get the first-aid kit-”

“Already here. On my desk.” Roman gasped, nodding his head jerkily towards the open case on the other side of the room. Virgil bit his lip. One question answered, he guessed. He helped Roman lie down, murmuring apologies when the Side groaned as the bed made contact with the bruises on his back. He brought the first-aid kit over, starting to clean the bloody mess of Roman’s abdomen.

“God, there’s so much blood. I think I need to get Logan-”

Immediately, Roman’s head shot up and he gripped Virgil’s wrist. “No. No Logan. No Patton. Please. They can’t see me like this. I just,” he lay his head back down and shut his eyes reluctantly, “want you.”

There was a heavy pause, and Virgil slowly ran a hand through Roman’s hair, wondering what on _earth_ he had done to deserve this level of trust.

“Okay. Okay, I’ll try just doing it myself.”

Roman cracked one eye open and tried a weak smile. “You’re doin' great, Virge.”

Virgil’s heart leapt to his throat, and he shushed Roman to avoid speaking and revealing how cracked his throat was. Roman really was the best of them.

“You’re going to be okay, Roman,” he said vehemently, more to himself than anything, as he dipped a cloth into water. Roman gave a wheeze of laughter that looked more painful than anything.

“‘Course I am,” he slurred, “Been through worse then this and ended up okay. At least now I’ve got you.”

Virgil’s movements stilled, and he whipped his head up to look at Roman. _What could be worse than this?_ “Yeah,” he whispered hoarsely. “You’ve got me.”

As he cleaned the jagged claw marks and wrapped bandages around Roman’s waist, Virgil realised that Roman’s skin wasn’t the smooth canvas he had always assumed. Instead, it was littered in scars. Some of them were claw marks from beasts, others were so thin and straight they looked to have been done with a weapon. There were burns on his bicep, and one long messy wound along his back that must have been done with a mace or something. Some of the scars were scabbed over or had formed ridges in his skin, but others were pale and faded in a way that spoke to _years_ of healing. Once he had gently tipped some water into Roman’s mouth and settled him into sleep he waited, perched on the edge of the bed, scanning his friend for any hint of distress. How long had Roman been accumulating scars?

* * *

At some point, he fell asleep. Curled up on the end of Roman’s bed like a cat on its owner’s couch, when he felt the mattress shift and his eyes flew open. He scrambled up, as Roman ran his hands over the bandages tied around his stomach.

“Roman-”

“You did a good job, Virgil.” There was something achingly tired in Roman’s voice, as he tugged gently at the firm bandages.

“Oh, uh, thanks.”

There was an awkward pause, where Virgil stared intently at Roman and Roman intently stared at anything that wasn’t Virgil. Finally, Roman sighed and spoke.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have dragged you into this.”

“You didn’t drag me into anything.”

“Yes I did- I practically draped my blood all over you- how were you supposed to leave?”

“I didn’t want to leave,” Virgil bristled.

“Maybe you should have,” Roman sighed, then immediately sunk lower into the bed. “Sorry. Didn’t mean that.”

Virgil rubbed the wood of Roman’s bed frame distractedly, but Roman didn’t seem to be speaking again.

“Where’d you get those scars, Roman?” Virgil asked quietly. For a second there was no response, and he wondered if Roman was just going to pretend he hadn’t heard him.

“The Imagination. Different storylines. Dragon witches. Pirates. Stupid stuff,” Roman screwed his face up, glaring at his abdomen with a burning intensity.

“But… can’t you just, I don’t know, pause the story? Set it to easy mode, or something? Do something that doesn’t leave you with half you skin torn off?”

Roman didn’t meet Virgil’s gaze, and started unravelling a single thread from his crimson bedspread. “Maybe. I don’t want to, though.”

“You prefer to get beat up every few weeks?”

“Maybe,” he laughed in a strangled way that didn’t sound at all like Roman, “Maybe I deserve it, you know? Maybe it makes me better.”

Virgil shot upright, reaching out to cover Roman’s fidgeting hand and grip his non-bruised shoulder. “Roman,” he said urgently, as the other Side’s gaze slid away from him, “You don’t _deserve_ to feel pain.”

Roman gave a weak shrug, and chuckled wetly. “Maybe I do.”

“You don’t.”

“How would you know what I do and don’t deserve?”

Virgil paused, rubbing his thumb along Roman’s neck, brushing the hair at his nape. “I know _you_ , Roman. I know that you worry about your mistakes, and you’re always looking out for Thomas, and you’re- you’re our rock. Really. Patton, Logan and I… without you, Roman, we’re nothing. We need you. I- I need you. I don’t need you to be okay right now, but I need you to know that you _deserve_ to be okay.”

Roman leant weakly into Virgil’s touch, closing his eyes briefly. “I’m so tired, Virge.”

“I know. You can rest, Roman. You don’t have to keep up the magic act, anymore.”

“But, Patton and Logan-“

“-love you.” Roman shied away, making a tiny movement like a head shake. “They do.”

“They don’t. Not since I- I made too many mistakes. Them and Thomas. They hate me.”

Virgil swallowed down the urge to grip Roman in a hug and squeeze all of his affection into him. Instead, he settled for moving his other hand to cradle Roman’s jaw, so that he could continue to stroke his hair and neck.

“No, no, no, you’ve got it wrong. They love you, Roman.”

Roman snorted disbelievingly. “They _can’t,_ Virge. I screwed up. And then I screwed up again, and again, and again. You can’t love someone like that.”

“It doesn’t _matter_ what you do, Roman. They’ll keep loving you. They have kept loving you. I- _I’ve_ kept loving you.”

Immediately, Roman’s eyes blew out and a pink flush rose on his cheeks. Virgil felt his heart skip a beat, and pushed through. He could feel embarrassed later. This was important. He tipped forward a bit so he could press his forehead against Roman’s.

“You are so, _so_ loved. Even if you don’t think you are. You are loved for who you were, and what you’ve done. You’re loved for who you are now. And you’re loved for who you’re becoming. No mistakes or scars are gonna change that. You hear me?”

Roman nodded numbly, making a small squeak that made them both give the uncontrollable giggles of relief that always follow heaviness.

As their voices died, Roman’s face grew stony again.

“I don’t… I don’t want to tell Patton and Logan.”

Virgil hesitated. “You don’t have to. You don’t owe them anything. But I think they’d want to know. Because, you know, they care about you.”

Roman hummed noncommittally. “I’m glad you’re here, Virge,” he sighed, breath fanning against Virgil’s face and bringing a scarlet blush up his neck.

“Ah, yeah. Me too. I mean, I’m glad you let me be here. After I forced my way in, I guess.”

Roman snorted, and tugged Virgil further up the bed so they were both leaning against the headrest. “You know I love you too, right, Emo?”

Virgil flushed, ducking his head and crossing his arms. “…Yeah. I know.”

Roman grinned, and gingerly placed his head down on Virgil’s shoulder, breathing out heavy exhale he had been holding in for months.

**Author's Note:**

> hi i haven't proofread this so please let me know if you see any silly typos or have any other feedback
> 
> thank you for reading this- it means a lot that you've taken the time and made it this far.


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